


A Complex Superiority

by cloudsweater



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: (tho neither of them smoke it its just present fdjhfhdsj), Alcohol, Confessions, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, I don't know what else to put hehe, I just wanted to write them having A Little Kiss... as a Treat <3, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Minor Blood Mention, Party, Private School, Yearning, adansey, how is yearning not a suggested tag lol. anyways they do a lot of it, they fight a little but when do they not lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27107986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsweater/pseuds/cloudsweater
Summary: Aglionby parties were expensive, vibrant, unraveled things.Ronan was not here because he too was an expensive, vibrant, unraveled thing, and preferred not to be surrounded by things of his own likeness. Noah was not here because he was Noah. And Adam’s reason for being here was very simple.Adam was here for Gansey.
Relationships: Richard Gansey III & Adam Parrish, Richard Gansey III/Adam Parrish
Comments: 23
Kudos: 70





	A Complex Superiority

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I'm NOT saying that Adam and Gansey kiss pre-TRB and then never speak of it again I'm just saying that IF THEY DID..... this is how I think it would go lol. 
> 
> Thanks oodles to @ghostlyparrish and @billywixxan on tumblr who beta'd this for me on really short notice and did such a marvelous job thank youuu <33!!! 
> 
> I'm @adamnsey on tumblr if u wanna say hi! Hope u like the fic!

Aglionby parties were expensive, vibrant, unraveled things.

Adam and Gansey stood together and looked up warily at the old brick building. Dapple House was one of the smaller school buildings, laying just on the outskirts of campus. Adam had never had a class there, but he had always admired its architecture: a square, squat structure with windows spotted sporadically across its front. Now Adam gazed at it tiredly, absentmindedly hoping this party wouldn’t tarnish his opinion of it. To him, it was already far too late for anything good to be beginning – 11:21 – but Gansey had insisted this was the perfect time for them to arrive. 

“We won’t be too early,” he’d explained, “and hopefully everyone will already be too drunk to talk to us.”

Talk to _me,_ was what he meant to say. But the _us_ was an invitation, and it was one that Adam didn’t really feel he could refuse. 

Adam could tell Gansey didn’t want to be here. But as the captain of the rowing team, it would not be very _Gansey_ of him to miss their year-end party. One teammate had a father who worked at Aglionby, and he had somehow secured the team access to Dapple House for the whole night – provided no property damage was done. The whole concept was a bad idea before it had even begun. 

And Adam could tell – he could always tell – that Gansey thought so, too. 

He saw how Gansey had been fretting about it for weeks beforehand: _Do we bring chips, Adam? Should we bring beer?_ He saw how Gansey bit the inside of his thumb as he watched his teammates stroll across campus. He saw how Gansey had penciled in the party on the calendar with too-small letters, ready to be erased at a moment’s notice in case anything else came up. 

Nothing had. 

Adam saw that Gansey wasn’t in a partying mood. Friday nights were good work nights, good mapping nights, good reading nights. Gansey liked to go at a certain speed and hated to be slowed down. Adam knew that right now, Gansey would much rather be discussing Glendower, or watching some shitty documentary, or eating pizza with Adam,Noah and Ronan. 

Ronan. Ronan was not here because he, too, was an expensive, vibrant, unraveled thing, and preferred not to be surrounded by things of his own likeness. Also, as he had expressed to both Adam and Gansey on multiple occasions, he “would rather spit in my own eye, and then both of yours,than go to one of those shit-shows.” Adam wouldn’t go as far to say the same, but standing here now, staring up at the shaking building – he could admit he saw the appeal in Ronan’s alternative. 

Noah was not here because he was Noah. And Adam’s reason for being here was very simple. 

Adam was here for Gansey. 

He was here because Gansey had asked him. Because Adam knew this was hard for Gansey, and something inside Adam urged him to do everything he could to make it easier, even though Adam knew exactly what this party meant. It meant taking a night off work and telling his dad he was sleeping over at a friend’s and having to face the consequences of both of those actions in the morning. To Gansey this party was just a party – an inconvenience, a detour – but to Adam it was much, much more. 

But whenever he started thinking like this, whenever the regret began solidifying in his stomach like concrete, Adam would look over at Gansey. At Gansey’s wide eyes and weak smiles. At Gansey’s skyward chin. And suddenly, somehow, it wasn’t even a choice anymore. Of course. Of course.

Of course Adam would go with him. 

Already the building was alive with energy. The smell of weed billowed gently from the propped-open door, and banners and ties and toilet paper clung desperately from second-floor windows. The whole house bounced amicably with the thud of bass. From somewhere inside, Adam heard a low voice yell _TELL HIM TO FUCKING TAKE IT UP WITH ME THEN._ Doors screeched open and slammed shut. The house roared. 

“This is going to be terrible,” Adam remarked, not for the first time. 

Gansey pressed another mint leaf into his mouth; he’d gone through four since they’d gotten in the car to drive over. “Not with that attitude,” he replied.

They smiled small at each other. 

Gansey let out a deep sigh. With it, Adam knew he was letting out the real Gansey and making room for Dick Gansey, captain of the team. Dick Gansey, frequent party goer. Dick Gansey, so-glad-to-be-here. Adam had to look away. Like always, he instantly mourned the real Gansey, but, like always, he pushed it down. He knew it was necessary if they were going to get through it. He could stand having Gansey as a lukewarm acquaintance tonight, so long as tomorrow he was back to being his best friend.

“Don’t leave me alone in there,” Gansey said, partly so that Adam didn’t have to say it, and partly because Gansey fully meant it. 

Adam only nodded, wordlessly thankful. They stepped inside. 

The music seemed to fade for a second, the whole house frozen in time. Then several voices chorused _GANSEY BOYYYYY,_ and then Gansey was simply gone.

He was pulled from Adam’s side and replaced with a beer, which Adam took just to have something to do with his hands. Someone acknowledged sarcastically, _Parrish! You clean up real nice_ before slapping a hand on Gansey’s shoulder and expressing an even louder, even more sarcastic compliment to him. At once, the rowing team circled and swallowed Gansey like a bobber being pulled underwater. Adam saw only a flash of Gansey as he was pulled to the back – his neck stretched and face stressed, searching for Adam. His eyes moved frantically. Without really thinking, Adam knew he did not want to be found, so he turned and pushed away into the crowd. He preferred to see Gansey’s face like this – in his last moments caring about Adam’s whereabouts – than seeing Gansey’s face completely forget about him. It was easier this way. Adam wasn’t going to desperately try to push into whatever wall of bodies barricaded Gansey. That wasn’t the deal. Adam knew how this worked. He knew Gansey would stay by his side, as long as the tide wasn’t too strong. 

And the tide was quite strong tonight. 

So was the beer. At some point, Adam had taken an accidental sip forgetting what it was, and his mouth tasted like metal for the rest of the night. 

The tide was quite strong. 

So was the weed. 

Adam eventually found himself with this one classmate, Alvin McKerry. Everyone at Aglionby hated and loved McKerry in equal measure, because he was a joke. McKerry was the unofficial weed dealer of the school and was invited to parties solely for that reason. Adam was neutral towards him, but when McKerry saw him, he beckoned Adam over with such exuberance that Adam wondered if they were, in fact, very good friends and Adam had just forgotten. 

“Parrish! Fucking _finally,”_ McKerry sang, as if they had had previous arrangements to meet up. “I never see you at these things, man! This is already turning around. Where’s Gansey? I heard his name. Oh god, Lynch isn’t here, is he? Shit. Hey, wanna smoke a bowl?” 

Adam was annoyed at the mention of Gansey and pleased by the offer of weed, but declined to answer both. Instead, he sat next to McKerry on a dark blue velvet couch while McKerry ate chips and they talked. They talked about graduation and what schools they wanted to attend afterwards– some of their top choices were even the same. They talked about which teachers they liked and why. McKerry mentioned off-handedly that he had an aunt who lived in Adam’s trailer park, a statement which immediately warmed and petrified Adam. He prayed McKerry wouldn’t mention Adam’s father, but he did nothing of the sort. Fortunately, McKerry was unable to keep on one topic of conversation for more than a few minutes, and Adam was happy to let that one go. 

At one point, McKerry realized someone had stolen his lighter – _my blue lighter, shiny, blue, it’s got a picture of Pee-Wee Herman on it, dude, that is priceless, I need to get it back, I bet it was Anthony, that fucking leech, okay, time for revenge_ – and he ended up dragging Adam all over the party, getting all up in people’s faces about it. Adam stood beside him, watching, too amused to be anxious or annoyed. 

“I swear to god Benny, if it was you – it’s not even me you have to worry about, okay? It’s Parrish. You see him? Look at him, Benny. He may look slim, but he works at garages and shit. Like, _cars._ Can you lift a car, Benny? No? Well, Parrish can, so fucking you up will be no problem. Karate Kid shit. You sure you don’t have my lighter? Pee-Wee Herman?” 

Despite himself, Adam was laughing. He was grateful for McKerry; he was just ridiculous enough to remind Adam of how stupid they all were, how stupid _all_ of this was. He let himself be stupid, just to fit in. Time seemed to slow and then speed up and slow again. Without really knowing how, Adam ended up in a group of people outside. When he looked up above him at the soft, swaying trees, all he could feel was peace. His shoulders relaxed. McKerry had found his lighter and waved it gently along to a rap song someone was playing on their phone. Adam laughed at nothing, laughed when the group did. He didn’t think about Gansey. At all. That much. And when he did, he waved the thought away as easily as he waved away the joint when it was passed to him. 

He let himself be stupid. It’s what Gansey would have done. 

After a while Adam left the group, not because he wasn’t enjoying it, but because he suddenly didn't care about being seen alone. He pushed into the building and up through the staircases – people were draped drunkenly over the railings, making out – all the way to the top floor of the building. He expected to find the double doors locked, but instead they parted easily. He pushed into an empty classroom. 

Up here the party was just an afterthought, a muffle, a noise-complaint. Adam let himself soak in the quiet, the silence beating against his ears like a moth. 

He made his way over to the windows and looked down. The party had spilled out fully onto the green: boys running shirtless, car doors open and blaring music, flashlights streaking across the dark like comets. At once, Adam felt a deep pride at attending this school. Aglionby. He said the word out loud, tasting it: _Aglionby._ Even the noise of it sounded like a promise. Adam stared at the lawn and thought of McKerry and couldn’t help but feel like, somehow, he’d made it. 

_Isn’t that why you wanted to come here?_ he asked himself _. If not to feel normal, then to feel superior?_

He slid down against the wall and sat on the floor below the window, closing his eyes. _Superior._ He thought maybe this was how Gansey felt all the time. Then he thought: _Gansey._ Gansey. Gansey. He had been doing so well, not thinking about goddamn _Gansey._ Dick-Fucking-Gansey. Dick-don’t-leave-me-alone-in-there-Gansey. Dick probably-doing-shots-off-someone’s-stomach-as-we-speak-Gansey. 

Adam shut his eyes. The feeling of superiority was melting away. 

It could have been a minute or an hour until, gingerly, someone pushed open the doors of the classroom. A double door entry, fit for a king. Adam didn’t have to look to know who it was, but he did anyway. 

He radiated heat and good-nature. Someone had placed a yellow paper crown, the kind you get from Christmas poppers, on his head. His shirt was wrinkled and scrunched as if he’d been in and out of it several times. His cheeks shone, cherubic and pink. His eyes found Adam.

“Hey,” Gansey said. 

“Hey,” Adam replied. 

Gansey let the doors fall shut softly behind him. 

He took slow strides around the classroom, hands clasped behind his back, head tilted towards the ceiling. “I had geography in here,” he finally accessed. 

Adam nodded. He hated when they spoke around the words they really wanted to say, but he was just relaxed enough to play along. “Steinman?” 

“No, Cal.” 

Adam wrinkled his nose; Cal was one of the more notoriously boring teachers, and not the kind of ancient boring that Gansey enjoyed, like Mallory. “Rough.” 

Gansey shrugged, a sluggish, uncaring thing. He was obviously getting tired of playing this game too. His eyes were very interested in anything that wasn’t Adam. When he did speak, it was after a very long time, and in a very precise voice: “You left me.” 

“You left me first,” Adam replied with no heat. It was detached and logical, because Adam knew the easiest way to make Gansey angry was to mirror him. Sometimes the quickest way to get them back to normal was to start a fight, and right now Adam couldn’t make himself care about what damage was done – all he wanted was to scratch the shining surface just enough to make sure the real Gansey was still in there.

But as a reply Gansey gave a noncommittal flip of his hand, and the speed and agility with which it was delivered told Adam that Gansey was drunk, or very close to being so. Adam noticed a white can of something in Gansey’s hand. Following his eyes, Gansey lifted it and squinted at the label, as if only now checking what it was. 

“ _Grapefruit Gallivant,”_ he read off extravagantly. “ _Beer beverage. 3% alcohol._ God, that’s not very impressive, is it?” 

“You hate grapefruit,” Adam said. 

“Mmm,” Gansey agreed, taking another sip. He pointed at Adam with the hand that held the can. “I also hate beer.” 

He walked over, leaning against the desk beside where Adam sat. Adam tried to remember if he had ever seen Gansey drunk before; certainly, he’d never seen him _this_ drunk. Adam stared at him: his undone tie, his lidded eyes, his feigned nonchalance. He tried to decide if he was intimidated by drunk Gansey or simply bothered by him. 

“You,” Gansey said again, fixing his eyes heavily on Adam, “left me.” 

“You said that already.” 

“I’m aware. I thought it warranted repetition.” 

Adam picked at a loose thread on his pants. “You were doing just fine on your own, anyway,” he muttered. Whether it was his sleepiness, or Gansey’s proximity to him, or the whole night in general, Adam’s accent slipped through. He reminded himself to clip it, but found, in this moment, that he actually really didn’t care. It was an oddly refreshing feeling. Adam almost smiled.

Gansey said, “That’s not the point.” 

Adam stopped almost smiling. 

Gansey’s words had made some small fire rise in Adam’s chest and he straightened his spine, his voice louder. “Except it is, Gansey, okay? That’s literally the whole point of parties. I’m not going to embarrass myself trying to be in your entourage.” 

They were quiet for a moment. Gansey hung his head, his fingers tangled defeatedly at his knees. Somehow, this look made any fire fizzle and die in Adam, with no hope of revival. 

Adam continued, softer: “You have everybody else clinging to you. You don’t need me.”

“I don’t _want_ everybody else,” Gansey said, and there was something so childish and bare about it that they had to look away from each other. With a long breath Gansey pushed himself off the desk, paced for a moment, then slowly lowered himself to sit on the floor next to Adam. 

“Saw you talking to _McKerry_ ,” Gansey said, stressing McKerry’s name in a way that he only did when he was diplomatically and thoughtfully making fun of someone. 

Adam knew Gansey was trying to change the subject and let him. “He’s not even that bad.” 

“I never said he was,” Gansey said, but his voice was uneven. McKerry bothered Gansey for reasons Adam didn’t fully understand. Gansey would say that McKerry “didn’t take himself seriously.” Adam just thought Gansey was annoyed by McKerry’s odd humour, by his shifting states of either friendliness or disinterest. Gansey liked things that made sense, things that had reasons. McKerry just _was._ Gansey didn’t like things he couldn’t even try to figure out. He liked the puzzle. 

There was a beat. Gansey said, “He likes you.” 

“He doesn’t.”

“No, no, I just mean, he likes you. As in, he wants to be your friend.” 

“Imagine that.”

“No, that’s not –”

“Would that be so weird, Gansey? Someone else wanting to be my friend?” 

“ _Of course not,”_ Gansey said. He let his face fall into his hands. “Of course not. I didn’t mean it like that.” 

They returned to looking in front of them, silent. Sometimes, it seemed to Adam that he and Gansey’s relationship existed in one of three states: silence, aggression, or a happiness so full that it felt like it couldn’t be contained between their two bodies. Sometimes, the rapidity with which their relationship moved through these three states was astounding. Sometimes, Adam couldn’t figure out if it was him or Gansey or the combination of the two of them that caused this. Sometimes, Adam felt like it was simply a consequence of having a friend as good as Gansey: he was so easy to talk to, so of course he was this easy to fight with, too.

As if listening to him think, Gansey said in a very quiet way, “I don’t want to fight with you.” 

Adam’s throat dried. “Me neither.”

“I never want to fight with you.” 

There was something very treacherous about his voice. When Gansey said _never_ , he meant _never._

Adam only swallowed and said, “So let’s not fight, then.” 

Gansey smiled at the air in front of him, biting the corner of his mouth. He shook his head loosely. “I can’t believe I never thought of that. You’re a genius, Parrish, you know that? A genius.” 

Adam shook his head, his smile small. Gansey lazily lifted his can of gross grapefruit drink to the air in front of Adam. “To you. Adam Parrish.” 

Adam huffed a laugh and, without a drink in his hand, fist bumped the can lightly. Gansey grinned and brought it to his lips. 

They both sighed and stared at the chalkboard at the front of the class. They obviously weren’t the first to visit this classroom: on the board there were drawings of clowns, bombs, penises and swear words. Together, their eyes moved over it, a happy distraction.

“Wrong spelling of _your,”_ Adam observed, gesturing without taking his wrist off his knee. 

“Incorrect male anatomy,” Gansey replied. In a low announcer voice, he added, “ _Aglionby, ladies and gentlemen: the finest education this country has to offer_.”

They both snickered. Adam suddenly felt dizzy with relief. He didn’t want to fight with Gansey, and this realization was hitting him as clear and as sobering as freezing water. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to be at this party, where fighting with Gansey not only seemed inevitable, but more appropriate than _not_ fighting with him. This had been all he’d really wanted this whole time: to just sit and be stupid with Gansey. Being stupid felt safe with him. Adam didn’t even have to try. He liked them both so much better, Adam realized, when they weren’t _trying_ so damn hard. 

Gansey looked like he’d stop trying, as well. He let his head fall back against the wall behind him, a loose, dreamy smile on his face. He took another sip of beer, then stuck out his tongue in distaste. 

“Just don’t drink it then,” Adam suggested, a smile accenting his words.

Gansey shook his head, his face still scrunched with disgust. “It was a bet,” he said, as if just remembering. He held the can out to Adam, forgetting that Adam didn’t drink. 

Instead of reminding him, Adam just shook his head. He certainly hadn’t drunk enough to be drunk, and probably hadn’t inhaled enough second-hand smoke to be high, but Adam still felt dangerously undone, as if one small wind might push him over completely. He let out a sigh; it came out shaky. 

He saw Gansey glance over at him then away. They sat in silence again, but it was a different kind of silence, somehow, as if someone had turned the brightness up. Adam was suddenly overly aware of everything: of his limbs, his bent knees starting to cramp, of the hardwood floor under him. He wanted to move, but didn’t want to draw more attention to himself. Beside him, he glanced at Gansey, who was sitting with his arm across his knee. He was shaking his head slightly.

“I keep thinking,” Gansey said slowly, “how Ronan would be at a thing like this.”

They both burst into laughter. It was probably too big and full of a laugh for what had been said, but neither really cared. 

Adam said, “Building would be up in flames by now.” 

Gansey laughed soundlessly. “He’s never even been to one of these things, really. How can he know he would hate it if he doesn’t try it? I mean, obviously he’d fucking hate it, but…” 

Adam gave a stunned gulp of laughter – it was kind of thrilling to hear Gansey swear so carelessly. Adam was decidedly amused by drunk Gansey, and he turned himself slightly against the wall to see him better. 

Gansey’s eyes darted to his face then away, his smile widening. “You’ve never come to one of these, right? And you’re having an okay time? Please say you’re having an okay time, Adam. Please say you don’t hate it.”

Adam just looked at him. He could never truly hate any place Gansey was, and he knew Gansey knew that, so he just said, “I don’t hate it. Do you?” 

Gansey grinned at him lopsidedly. “Right now? No, I don’t hate it at all.”

With suppressed smiles, they stared at the wall again. Adam tried not to look back at Gansey, but found it hard.

Beside him, Gansey had become lost in thought again, his head pressed against the wall, his eyes on the ceiling. His bottom lip fell open just enough for Adam to see his teeth glint under the fluorescents. Before Adam could consider whether this was an odd thing to notice about someone, Gansey began speaking, his eyes still glued to the air above him. 

“Before I had come to one of these things,” he said, “it always just seemed so important. So pivotal. One of those big, life...moment… _things.”_

Adam laughed. “ _Things?”_

“You know,” Gansey said, but his mouth had started to slip into a smile again. “You know. One of those things you do that proves you’re alive. Going to a school party or having a hangover or, or kissing someone. Things that make you feel normal.” 

_Normal -_ there was that word again. _If not to feel normal, then superior?_

As Adam was being struck by that word, Adam looked over and realized Gansey was looking at him, purposefully, his head against the wall but his eyes on Adam. 

Gansey said, “Do you have a thing like that? Something you’ve always wanted to do?” 

Adam couldnt look back at him. Instead he nodded, nodded. His mind still rang with _normal, normal, normal._ He thought of normal. He thought of what he’d do if he were normal. If he felt he had the capacity for normalcy. While he thought all these things, his mouth began to copy Gansey’s, and it fell open without Adam’s permission, and while Adam’s brain thought _normal,_ Adam’s mouth said: “Hitting someone.”

The moment broke.

As Adam realized what he’d said, instantly he felt the shame and anger wash over him,bitter and biting as mouthwash. _Just like your father,_ a voice scorned, a faceless voice, a common voice, a very Adam-ish voice. _Just like your father._ How could he explain to Gansey that he didn’t just dream of hitting _someone?_ How could he explain that he knew, in those objective, out-of-body moments before his father hit him, that fighting back would be a much more rational, normal response? How could he explain that he wanted to hit his father, if only to understand just a bit better? 

He couldn’t explain. He couldn’t explain any of it. A normal person could, but Adam couldn’t. 

At once, all the small victories of the night were gone. He felt animalistic. He felt ashamed to be sitting next to Gansey – Gansey, who hesitated to kill mosquitoes, Gansey, who pulled fights apart, not start them. Gansey, who stared at Adam now, with his bottom lip hanging open just enough for Adam to see that he’d gone too far.

Adam looked away. 

They sat for a moment in a silence Adam thought would be eternal. But then Gansey cleared his throat softly, closed his eyes, lifted his chin to the ceiling and asked, “Have you ever tried?”

Adam looked at him. 

Gansey asked again, his voice gravelly: “Have you ever tried hitting him back?”

Adam shook his head once, twice. Reaching through all of Adam’s emotions was a feeling of understanding, and it was horrible. He recognized the tepid, frail thread of hope that outlined Gansey’s voice. He recognized it because it had been Adam’s hope once, too. And it had faded a long time ago.

With a voice so low it was almost unheard, Adam said, “I don’t think that would end the way you want it to, Gansey.” 

Gansey was either too kind or drunk to reply. He nodded stiffly. Then he muttered, “I think about it sometimes, too.”

Gansey’s eyes were open now, wide. They were lit up in a very rare way. He licked his peeling lips.

“I’ve thought about it,” he said again, with a small sad laugh. “I even dreamt about it, once. One of those really vivid dreams. The ones that are more feeling than sight. And you know that if you try and explain it to someone you just couldn’t.” 

Adam felt treacherous hope creep up his spine. He tried to shrug it off. 

“Well, I mean, you could explain it to me _,”_ Adam said, and Gansey looked over at him knowingly, his smile cautious and weighed.

“I said _someone,_ ” Gansey replied. _“_ You’re not just someone, Adam.”

Adam opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. 

Gansey turned his head away and quickly cleared his throat, a second before the silence became awkward. “I’ve dreamed about it. It’s like – you’re not there for some reason and I drive up to your house and I already know what I’m gonna do. I just go in without knocking and I see him first and I walk up. I don’t even hesitate, Adam. I don’t think. And then it’s…”

He looked down. Adam knew the dream didn’t end there; Adam’s never did, either. 

Something was slowly releasing in Adam, the grime of his shame slowly rinsing off with Gansey’s confession. Gansey had thought about it, too. Gansey wanted it, too. He and Gansey dreamt the same way. Maybe they were more frighteningly similar than Adam had ever let himself think.

Adam smiled wryly. His voice was not angry, but faded. “What happens then, Gansey? We ride off on your steed and I live happily forever at Monmouth?”

Gansey smiled, but it too was a sleepy, wrung-out thing. It was a fight they’d had so many times before, but now it was different. Like they were just reading out their lines. Like they were fighting it out of habit rather than necessity. Like they were the last two soldiers alone in the field, unaware that the war was over and everyone else had gone home. 

Gansey said, gentle and precise: “No, Adam. What happens then is that you don’t have any more bruises and I don’t worry every day I see you that it will be the last.”

Silence filtered back in through the spacing of their breathing. Adam went to make a comeback, something like _I’m sorry my situation is so inconvenient for you_ but then he pictured Gansey’s response in perfect clarity and knew it would just start another fight and Adam had never wanted anything less. He hated what he had turned this conversation into. He hated that this was what they talked about at parties. He wanted his stupidity back. He wanted ignorance. He couldn’t believe that a few minutes ago he had felt normal. Of course he wasn’t normal. A normal person would be drunk like Gansey. A normal person wouldn’t be talking about punching their father. A normal person wouldn’t have come up here alone.

Adam cleared his throat, let out a breath. “I don’t think you could hit someone, anyway,” he tried, in a tone he hoped Gansey would understand as humorous.

Gansey did. He looked up, resting his chin on his closed fist. “No?”

“No,” Adam sniffed. “You’d probably break your thumb.” 

Gansey feigned insult. “I wouldn’t. I took a class. I know how to do it.” 

He held his fist up in the air between them, wrapping his fingers over his thumb.

Adam pressed down a smile. “That’s the exact opposite of how you do it.” 

“You do that to protect your thumb!” 

Adam gave a breathy laugh, turning his head away from Gansey, then turning back, falling forward. He began pulling apart Gansey’s fist, explaining as he did: “Thumb goes in front. Tuck your picky in. And when you do punch, you turn your arm like _this,_ and the impact goes to your knuckles, right – “ Adam slowly pulled Gansey’s fist to Adam’s own chest, pressing Gansey’s knuckles against his breastbone in the softest punch possible, like he was bringing a spoonful of food to a baby’s mouth. “– here.”

They both breathed quietly, suddenly overly aware of how close they were, and overly unaware of how’d they gotten there. Under his fingers, Adam felt Gansey’s pulse thriving, chaotic and unsteady. His skin felt impossibly thin, as if everything so undeniably _alive_ about Gansey threatened to burst out at any minute.

Adam swallowed. “Okay?”

Gansey stared at his fist like it wasn’t his own. Even when Adam released his soft grip on Gansey’s wrist, Gansey didn’t take away his hand. Instead, slowly, he let his fingers unfurl petals blooming from a flower, until his hand was splayed out completely against Adam’s chest. He didn’t push, but his touch wasn’t hesitant, either. Adam stared at his hand disconnectedly, now, reminding himself every second that this was Gansey’s hand. Gansey. Gansey’s hand. See? There’s the line from where he cut himself on that wood carving knife. There’s the scar spot from when he burned himself when he was nine, trying to make his own tea. Gansey’s hand. Adam had no idea what was happening. He knew this wasn’t normal, but he also knew he wasn’t, either.

Staring down, Adam asked, “Do you feel normal?” 

Gansey still didn’t remove his hand. He just looked up at Adam, his face unreadable. 

Adam said, “You’ve done all those things you said. Parties and hangovers and kissing. Did it make you feel normal?” 

Gansey gave the smallest smile, looking to the ground. “I, ah. I haven’t. Done all those things.”

Now Adam did look up, forgetting to be embarrassed for a second. It took him a moment to understand what Gansey meant. “What about Jenny?” 

Gansey shook his head, smiling sourly. “She was always very weird about germs. She read this article about lips– or, well, mouths, I suppose – and how they have more bacteria than a dog’s or something. She never wanted to. Which was fine by me. Obviously.”

“What about Rachel?” 

“I’ve never kissed anyone, Adam.” He said it the opposite of the way anyone else would say it. He said it with his eyes open big into Adam’s, his face pale and unblushing, his hand pressed stoically against Adam’s chest. He cocked his head, echoing Adam from a few minutes before: “Okay?”

Adam nodded. He didn’t know how to continue. He didn’t know anything. He felt like he hadn’t known anything, ever, at all. He knew he wanted Gansey’s hand to stay on his chest. 

“Do you want,” Adam said, “to feel normal?”

Gansey pursed his lips slightly as if considering. “Sometimes. Mostly, I just want other things,” – his fingers tightened ever so slightly in Adam’s shirt – “so much more.”

Adam watched his fingers, trying to believe that he wasn’t imagining Gansey’s hand on him. But his imagination wasn’t this good. He wouldn’t have imagined how warm Gansey’s hand could be, how he had little freckles on his knuckles up close. Adam swallowed. 

Gansey asked, “Do _you_ feel normal?”

Adam shook his head, parting his dry lips. “I want to, though.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Don’t tell me what I want.” 

“I’m sorry. I just –“ Gansey shook his head. “You don’t want to be normal, Adam. You’re so much better than normal. You’re – special. _”_

Adam laughed harshly. “ _Special._ Special feels an awful lot like fucked up _.”_

Gansey watched him painfully. His hand was warm against Adam’s shirt; Adam wondered if he could get away with using Gansey’s touch instead of an iron. And then Adam wondered why he was already thinking up excuses for Gansey to touch him again. Gansey was watching him, eyes bigger than they ought to be, looking more earnest than he’d ever let them.

“Do you want to be normal,” Gansey asked hesitantly, “or do you just want everything to be simpler?” 

Adam looked down. He felt his throat begin to close off and when he spoke, his voice betrayed him and broke. “Can’t I have both?” 

Gansey let out air from his mouth. “I don’t know, Adam. I don’t know anything.” 

Adam didn’t know anything either, but he knew what he wanted.

With a held breath, Adam slowly touched Gansey’s hand, his fingers slipping down Gansey’s. They both breathed out at the contact; they both tried to hide it. Touching Gansey’s hand felt like acknowledging everything that existed between them: every hidden smirk, every sentence spoken just for the other to hear, every late-night drive that occurred for no other discernible reason than to sit close to each other. Touching Gansey’s hand felt like admitting something. It felt at once like a crime and a verdict of innocence, and Adam nearly choked on how good it was.

Wrapping his fingers around Gansey’s, his breath catching audibly, Adam whispered, “ _This_ isn’t simple.” 

“I know,” Gansey said. He sounded so pained, and yet he sandwiched Adam’s hand with his other one and held even tighter. “I know, I know, I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make this harder for you.” 

“Then _don’t,”_ Adam all but pleaded, but his body didn’t act the way his mouth did and he fell forward, his forehead almost on Gansey’s shoulder. He felt Gansey’s breath, troubled and uneven and warm, on the side of his head. 

Gansey muttered miserably, “I’m ruining everything.” 

Adam shook his head and lifted it at the same time. “I ruined it first.”

“Adam, you fucking –” Gansey gasped a laugh, bringing a hand up to touch Adam’s cheek. Adam’s first reaction was to flinch from the movement, but he didn’t – somehow, right now, Adam’s body seemed to belong more to Gansey than it did to him. Gansey laid a hand on his cheek, and it was so _new_ that Adam nearly shivered. Gansey’s eyes moved back and forth across Adam’s face, desperate. “You _saved it_ . Every single day you – god, Adam. You _salvage_ me.” 

Adam breathed a laugh, but it was chaotic and quiet and broken. Nothing was real. Adam had never heard Gansey’s voice like this. This was not Dick Gansey, party-Gansey, or King-Gansey. It was a new Gansey altogether. It was a Gansey Adam had never let himself dare to believe was real. One he had never let himself want. Yet he was here. Here he was. For Adam. His Gansey. Adam’s-Gansey.

Adam’s hands had fallen uselessly against the floor. _Normal people,_ he thought detachedly, _would know what to do with their hands._ Gansey watched him for a moment more, then he dropped his hand from Adam’s cheek, then the one from his chest. Adam felt like a cast had come off, his skin newly tender and exposed. 

Gansey turned so he was looking in front of him, but his eyes were seeing something else. He started speaking very slowly, as if he had to convince himself to say each individual word. “Sometimes,” he started, “there are things that feel the _most_ important. More than the rest. Like, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t even attempt them. If I didn’t at least _try.”_

Adam’s eyes felt dangerously close to tears. They were so close that when Gansey spoke, Adam could hear his lips parting. Adam asked, “Like Glendower?”

Gansey replied, “Among other things.”

Adam asked, “Like?” 

They were doing something. Something they hadn’t done before. Adam could feel it in the way they subtly encouraged each other, feeding each other lines, in the way they leapt and lived for the other’s words. It was like they were fighting, but sideways. It was like the opposite of fighting, where anger was excitement and humiliation was certainty and pride was aimed in the other direction. It was easier than talking to him. It was easier than fighting with him. It was like playing a game they were both very good at, only this time, the prize was very different. And so were the rules. 

But Gansey had never cared much for rules. 

“Kissing someone,” Gansey replied, unreadable. His fingers rested on his own chest, where they had been on Adam’s.

This was Adam’s cue, and he understood that he could either take it or choose to walk off stage. He knew this. 

Adam had never cared much for rules, either. “Someone?” 

“No,” Gansey said, relief filling his voice. _Adam knew, Adam knew._ Gansey’s beer can clinked against the ground as he shifted. He looked into Adam’s eyes. “No, not just someone, Adam.” 

And this was where it became a new game entirely. 

Adam said, “So try it, then.”

Gansey looked up at him. He had some hesitant, pleading look on his face, as if maybe Adam was playing some joke on him and he just wanted Adam to come clean already.

Adam pressed, “You said you wanted to try it once, right?” He had to actively stop his voice from shaking. “So try it.” 

Gansey shook his head weakly. His lips parted but he said nothing. He tried again. “I can’t – I don’t – what if it ruins everything?” 

“Do you think it will?” 

“Do _you_ think it will?” 

“I don’t think...” Adam’s accent slipped out, his voice raw and honest. “I don’t really think you’re the type to ruin things, Gansey. I think you patch things back together.” 

Gansey looked at him, then a smile picked at his lips. “Christ,” he said, letting his head down. “Can I just – could I put my hand on your chest again?” 

Adam only nodded, wordlessly thankful. 

Gansey was already moving, like he knew Adam would say yes. This time he pressed both his hands against Adam’s chest, his palms unapologetic. Adam felt overly aware of his whole body again, but not in a bad way. Like he knew himself. Like he was capable of doing anything, anything at all. 

Staring at Gansey’s hands, Adam said, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.”

“Do you only want to do this because you’re drunk?” 

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Gansey replied instantly. “Being drunk just means I’m worse at hiding it.” 

Adam had to stop himself from shivering. When Gansey said _always,_ he meant _always._

Adam turned himself – his knee thudded harshly against the wall, but he barely felt it. Watching him, Gansey turned, too, until they both sat facing each other, the tips of their bent knees grazing. Gansey dropped his hands from Adam’s chest to Adam’s legs, just close enough to the knee to keep Adam calm. Gansey’s fingers moved worriedly against the fabric. Adam put his own hands over Gansey’s, and for a moment they were both perfectly still. 

“Also,” Adam said, “we really don’t have to do this, Gansey. Promise.” 

_You_ really don’t have to do this, was what Adam meant to say. But the _we_ was an invitation, and it was one he really hoped Gansey would accept.

Gansey only gave a shapeless laugh. “Oh, no. No, no. It’s not that, not at all. Believe me. It’s just – _ah._ ” His voice gave way to boyish exasperation. He gestured with his chin to his empty can on the ground. “What do they call this stuff? Liquid courage? I thought it would make things easier. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” He gave an apologetic laugh. “I don’t know why I’m so scared.”

“Don’t be scared,” Adam said. “It’s just the once, remember? We’ll stop right away if it’s terrible.” 

“Just the once,” Gansey echoed. His breath was uneven. 

“I’m scared too,” Adam told him. He gently tapped on Gansey’s fingers with his own, like piano keys. “I’m just better at hiding it.” 

Gansey laughed, and in that moment Adam was so scared that when he was done laughing they would go to normal. Some spell would be broken, and Gansey would pull his hand away and take a breath and they would never speak of this whole thing again and write off whatever this was as a fluke and this terrified Adam in a way he hadn’t been terrified before. So before the last laugh had even left Gansey’s lips, Adam caught it between his own and kissed him. 

At first, it was motionless. 

Both of them were unmoving, like they’d just been lowered into freezing water. Adam was aware of Gansey’s breath, caught mid-flight between his lips. The feeling of Gansey’s mouth was so much realer than Adam could have thought, and it took a moment for him to conceptualize it again. Like with his hands, he kept on having to remind himself that this was Gansey. Gansey. These were Gansey’s lips. Feel here: his peeling skin. Feel here: the slippery taste of beer against his cupid’s bow. Gansey’s lips were on his. He was kissing Gansey. Slowly, still without moving his face, Gansey brought his hand up to Adam’s cheek, hovering but not quite touching. It was the same way Gansey just-barely touched museum artifacts, the same way his fingers would skim over the surface of maps. The same way he just barely-touched things he knew needed to be preserved. Things worth saving. 

This time, Adam did shiver.

They pulled apart. 

Adam ducked his chin but left their foreheads pressed together. Gansey sighed; Adam tasted it in his mouth. With his eyes closed, Gansey looked like he was sleeping – all the tension drained from his face. Adam took a moment to stare at him indulgently, because with Gansey’s eyes closed it felt safer somehow. And then, because he could, Adam took Gansey’s chin in his thumb and forefinger and titled it up, up, up. Because at least in this freakish, small moment– he could. 

Then Gansey opened his eyes, grabbed a handful of hair at the back of Adam’s neck and said, “This still counts as just the once, okay?

This time, it was not motionless. 

Instead, it was Gansey sitting up on his knees so that he could loom over Adam, taking Adam’s head in his hands and pressing downwards to kiss him harder. Instead it was Adam grabbing the collar of Gansey’s shirt and disheveling it even more, accidently touching a bit of Gansey’s collarbone and Gansey gasping and Adam catching the gasp in his mouth. Instead it was messy and desperate and fast and Adam knew from their tempo that this was partially choreographed, that this was not the first time either of them had thought about it; this thought was louder and more intoxicating than anything else that night, so Adam moved to it appropriately. When Gansey pulled, Adam pushed. When Gansey gasped, Adam laughed soundlessly. When Gansey’s head fell back against the wall, Adam’s palm was already behind it. And when Gansey said his name – when _all_ Gansey could say was Adam’s name – Adam tugged on Gansey’s belt loop and echoed him in the opposite: Gansey, Gansey, Gansey. Until they weren’t anything else but Adam, Gansey, Adam, Gansey. Until Gansey’s whisper was the loudest noise Adam’s body had ever heard. 

With one hand against Gansey’s chest, Adam gently pushed back – it was just on the cusp of being too much. Adam breathed a moment, his eyes closed. He was unsure of whether he could talk or if now the sole purpose of his mouth was to be against Gansey’s. When Adam did speak only a soft, ragged sentence fragment came out. “We should…” 

“Yes,” Gansey agreed, his voice sounding just as wrecked. He swallowed and placed a hand politely on Adam’s chest. “Yes, we should, shouldn’t we.” 

“That was…” Adam began, but found that there wasn’t quite a word for what it was.

“Yes,” Gansey replied. “It was, wasn’t it.” 

They both laughed into each other’s mouths. 

“God,” Gansey said, and finally pulled back enough so they could taste the cold outside air. As he pulled away Adam instantly mourned the feeling of him, desperation. _Shit,_ Adam thought. 

“God, Adam,” Gansey said again, breathing out. He had turned away from Adam, leaning back against the wall and running a hand recklessly through his hair. He was a mess. Three of his shirt buttons had come undone. His lips shone like he had lip gloss on. His neck – his neck… Adam had to look away. 

Adam felt numb in a new kind of way. It was not a numbness he wanted to escape from, nor was it a numbness that aimed to protect him from anything. It was new entirely. For a mere second, it was just a lack of anything. A lack of thoughts or regret or worry or pain or doubt. Adam knew it would dissolve in a moment, but he indulged himself and held on for a second. A merciful _what if._ He looked over at Gansey and pretended for a second that this was how they were, that he could see Gansey like this any time he wanted. That Gansey was his. That this was their normal. Adam closed his eyes and imagined it. And he loved it. And he’d wished he’d never done it in the first place. 

“What are we going to do?” 

Gansey’s voice brought Adam out instantly, emotion soaking over him like water. 

Gansey was holding his hair tight, tight, tight with both hands, with his elbows on his knees. He looked up at Adam through his eyelashes. 

“What are we going to do, Adam?” 

Adam understood. Adam understood that it would have been easier if the kiss was bad. It would have been easier if it was awkward, or if they’d laughed and then made icky faces and pulled away. 

It would have been easier if the kiss had been a mistake. 

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t any of those things. 

The kiss hadn’t ruined anything. Instead, it had created. It had created problems and feelings and urges and, above all, questions. Questions like _did it feel that good for you too?_ Questions like _is it bad if it did?_

Questions like _what the hell are we going to do, Adam?_

Adam opened his mouth, and then shut it. When Gansey let out a breath, unfurling his tense limbs away from his body and beginning to move fretfully, Adam tried again. 

“We can pretend it was a dream,” Adam offered lamely. “One of those really vivid ones.” 

Gansey gave a broken laugh. “My dreams are never this good.” 

“A nightmare, then,” said Adam. He tried not to look directly into Gansey’s eyes - it was getting harder and harder. “Whatever. Whatever you want to call it. But we can just pretend it wasn’t real. If you want that.”

Gansey nodded numbly; his Adam’s apple bobbed with a worried swallow. “Do _you_ want that?”

Adam folded his fingers together, trying to forget what Gansey’s skin had felt like under them. “Sometimes,” he said to his hands, “want isn’t the most important thing.” 

Gansey was immobile for a second, then he just nodded. Adam knew he didn’t understand but couldn’t begin to explain it to him because Adam was worried that if he did, he would have to kiss him again, and he was not certain that if he kissed him again, he would be able to stop this time. So Adam just nodded once, tightly. Then he pushed himself off the ground. 

He felt Gansey’s eyes on his back, but he didn’t turn around. 

“I’m gonna, uh, go back out there,” Adam said to the chalkboard.

“Okay.” 

Adam held his eyes closed for a moment too long. “Okay,” he echoed. He made his way to the door. When he reached for the knob, he saw his hands were trembling. 

“Did it work?” Gansey’s voice stopped Adam dead in his tracks, right as he was leaving. Adam felt a pang of annoyance - apparently Gansey didn’t even need to touch him to have an effect on Adam’s body. Adam allowed himself to look at Gansey over his shoulder. 

Gansey was still sitting against the wall, but his arms fell placidly down at his sides now – he was making no effort to hold himself up. His beer can had been knocked over. His yellow paper crown lay, neglected and partly crushed, underneath his thigh. A king, utterly defeated. 

“Did it work, at least?” Gansey asked again. His voice was colourless. “Did it help you feel normal?”

Adam stared at his hand clutching the doorknob; it no longer shook, but it had turned was white with his grip. “I think you might have been right,” Adam said. He forced himself to look fully into Gansey’s lidded eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to be normal.” 

He turned before he could see Gansey’s reaction. It was simpler that way.

“Come find me when you’re ready to go,” Adam said as he left. The doors shut silently after him. 

Gansey watched for a long moment after the doors closed. There was a small, stupid part of his brain – the romantic part – that hoped Adam would come barging back through. But along with his drunkenness, this part of his brain was slowly withering and Gansey couldn’t even conjure up a half-decent fantasy for himself. He just sat there, half laying on the ground. He listened to the dull noises of the boys outside – the party sounded like it was winding down, though Gansey had no idea what time it was. Gansey had no idea how long he had been kissing Adam for. Kissing Adam. He’d _kissed Adam._ It was a dream, he tried to convince himself. But it was useless; he couldn't even make himself _think_ it halfheartedly, let alone try and believe it. 

Gansey couldn’t even make himself sigh. Letting out a soundless breath, he reached over and picked his beer can off the floor. He held it at eye level with one hand and thought of Adam’s fist gently knocking against it. He thought of his own fist against Adam’s chest. He thought of Adam’s hands, very much not in fists, taking handfuls of Gansey’s collar and pulling h– 

This wasn’t going to work. 

Gansey picked at the tab of the can until it fell loose in his palm. One corner of it had come off jagged and without thinking, Gansey pressed it against the pad of his thumb and held it there until he felt the slight, sharp puncture of his skin. It worked better than a pinch; he was perfectly awake. Hissing out a sigh of relief, Gansey let his head lull back against the wall with a small thud. He knew it, but he still had to be sure. He knew it. His dreams were never this good. Gansey stared at the small bud of blood on his thumb. 

He placed it in his mouth and then smiled, ever so small, around it. Gansey didn’t care what they called it. Real. It had been real. Nothing could take away the fact that it had been real.

Gansey let his hand drop. He closed his eyes. He wondered if he would dream of Adam tonight. He wondered if that would make it better or worse. 

  
  



End file.
